


Choices

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9190709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Erestor finds himself in trouble, and somehow, Glorfindel knows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rewritten/edited no less than 13 times. It is the pivot point for this pair for Bunniverse, and every time I say it's done, it's not done. Which is ironic. Considering one of the lines in it. But I'm not going to say more if this is your first time reading it. If it's not your first time... welcome back, dear reader! I see you enjoy angst with a side of comfort as much as I do...

“Keep moving!” Erestor stumbled as the sword pushing into his back directed him forward. Cursing under his breath at the foul creature, he complied, but as he expected, the point was driven at him again for this disobedience. 

“How much further is he going to lead us?” 

Erestor said nothing, but the blade was forced into his back once more. “Answer him!” 

“Not much further,” Erestor said, trying his best to stay balanced while walking briskly as he was, hands bound behind his back and sword tip pricking his skin. Glorfindel was right. He should not have come alone. 

Weeks ago, while readying what was left in the library of the Last Homely House for travel to the undying lands – it seemed that was the only thing he did these days – the twins had posed the question of what had happened to the Library of Lorien. Surely if it would have been moved, something would have been said. And if someone had taken it to Valinor, again, it would have been mentioned. But chances were some of the trees still held tomes of knowledge, and Erestor did not plan to let a single volume turn to dust if he could help it. Off to Lothlorien he rode, leaving the twins and Glorfindel to see to Imladris. Few elves were left, but those few who were passed through Rivendell on their way to the havens and on to Valinor, and someone needed to be there. 

If only Erestor had realized how long it had been since last he had held a bow, or raced a horse through trees in an attempt to escape a hoard. Neither of these mattered now – his horse had been slaughtered, murdered brutally, then beheaded - needless overkill, he had informed those who surrounded him. His bow they had broken, and his captors had used the string to bind his hands. The thin but unbreakable strand was cutting deeper into his wrists now as he continued to march along at the pace set. He had been leading them into, out of, and around Fangorn for over three days now, and his hopes that they would run into an Ent were quickly fading like the setting sun. Another jab in the back sent him to the ground, and he heard them grunting and laughing. 

“How much further?” The voice was more impatient, and Erestor steadied himself on his knees, looking up into the vile one’s distorted face. They had captured him nearly two weeks ago, demanding he lead them to the treasure hidden by the elves. No doubt, Erestor believed they had heard stories of silver and jewels, or perhaps even of the Silmarils, and were determined to find them, though for what purpose, Erestor cared not. He would not have led them on a quest to obtain any of them even if he knew the whereabouts of one. 

“No further.” His voice was ragged, scratchy from days of abuse, with no water, no food, and barely any rest. “We are here.” 

They looked around cautiously, likely waiting for an ambush of elves to overtake them. None came as they watched the elf, glaring at him. 

“Where is it?” demanded the leader. “Where is the treasure?” 

“It is before you.” Erestor nodded to the trees and the faintest glints of the stars in the skies. “These are the treasures of the elves! All that you look upon. All that comes from Arda and is Arda and that which shines down upon her, we hold above all else.” Again, little surprised Erestor as he was backhanded, falling to the ground. One of them kicked him in the stomach, and then again in the ribs - but all he did was laugh between his gasps for air.

“Enough of this. He is mad, and I tire of his games.” The leader spat on Erestor’s face, then walked from him. “Kill him. But make him suffer.” 

Erestor sighed inwardly. At least it was coming to an end. He had expected to be killed, expected to be tortured, but he hadn’t expected to have it drag out for this long. The waiting had been annoying to say the least, and he longed for the gentle and merciful touch of death after all he’d been through since his capture. He was yanked up from the ground and slapped once again for smiling at his captors.   
\- - - 

 

Days earlier, in Imladris… 

Glorfindel lounged in his favorite chair, reading a book on hobbits and their pipe-smoking habits. It was not his normal type of selection, but over the last few years he had literally read everything the library had left to offer, and most of it was meticulously packed away regardless, ready to be taken to Valinor. The twins were not too far off from where he sat, busy with a game of some sort. 

As he set to turn the page, he got a funny itching in the back of his mind. ‘Erestor?’ He sat still for a moment, concentrating on the thought. It was Erestor, and he was in trouble. ‘Figures. He did have to go and jinx himself by telling me he would be fine.’. Glorfindel closed his book audibly, and tossed it onto a nearby table, alerting the twins of something being amiss. 

“What is wrong?” 

“Where are you going?” 

“I do not know, but neither of you are to leave the house. I may not be back for some time.” Glorfindel left with no further explanation, stopping only to retrieve his horse before riding out of Rivendell.   
\- - - 

 

For hours, Erestor had been stretched over the flames, heat licking at his chest and knees, singeing his clothes and burning his flesh. A small fire had been built, two logs placed on either end. They had tied his limbs to them, pulling them as far as they could. The only consolation Erestor found to this particular method of persecution was that his eyes had swollen shut, and thus he could not see the foul beasts. 

He felt warm rancid breath on his neck, yet it was a soothing feeling compared to the flames below. “You want to try again, elf? Tell me where the treasure is kept, and I will make your death come sooner.” A blade was held to his neck as if promise of this. Erestor stayed silent. “Is there nothing you want to tell me?” 

Erestor nodded, dizziness and nausea setting in. The scent of something roasting terrified him, because he knew he was what the flames were consuming. If he had eaten anything these last few days, he would have emptied it now on the fire. He made an attempt to speak, but his throat had been close to the heat, and ached for water. They must have thought he was going to tell them what they wanted to know, for moments later, his head was tilted and fresh, cool water was poured down his throbbing, constricted throat. “You were saying?” the voice pressed gruffly. 

“I think you should turn me over,” Erestor barely managed. 

“What?” 

“Turn me over. I am done on this side.” Erestor swallowed, trying to force the pain down, but to no avail. There were a few snickers, but the majority of them snarled in outrage. 

“More wood! Get more wood for the fire!” Shouted the one who had tried to talk to him. Erestor smiled grimly as his head sank back down. 

Though his elven ears were inflamed, red from the fire, and sore to the touch of the wind, they now picked up on a very distinctive, very welcome sound – that of arrows flying through the air. Erestor strained to hear more, and listened as one by one, his captors were slain, brought down by sword and arrow, and in the end, bare hands. He could not see, but he knew. He knew who had come. 

“You. You rescued me.” Erestor was breathing heavily as he heard Glorfindel kick the pile of burning wood out from under him. The golden-haired Noldo knelt down and began to untie Erestor, starting with his hands. As soon as these were freed, Erestor gingerly wrapped his burnt arms around Glorfindel’s neck as the rest of the task was completed. 

“Of course I rescued you.” Glorfindel carried Erestor to where Asfaloth stood, relieving the horse of his saddle and taking the blanket from his back with one hand while still balancing Erestor, glad that the councilor was a light elf. 

“How? How did you?” 

Glorfindel tossed the blanket on the ground, spreading it out with his feet. “I just knew.” He lowered Erestor onto the blanket. “I felt you. Up here.” He tapped his forehead and began to remove what was left of Erestor’s trousers, realizing sadly that Erestor couldn't see what he was trying to explain. “Felt you in my mind.” 

“But…how could you…I could not farspeak...you should not…” 

“Hush now.” Glorfindel had managed to peel the remnants of Erestor’s clothing from him, apologizing every time Erestor gritted his teeth. The cloth had almost fused to Erestor's skin, which was blistered and swollen. Glorfindel frowned at the damage that had been done. Thankfully, they had removed Erestor's shirt and cloak, likely because they would have caught fire too quickly and not given them enough time to interrogate the poor elf. They had hacked off the counselor's long braided hair as well, Glorfindel now noticed, but this, too, had actually bought the time Glorfindel needed to reach Erestor, even though it was not going to make Erestor very happy to learn later how much of it was singed and broke off as Glorfindel moved it back from Erestor's face.

Glorfindel did not want to leave to get water or herbs to soothe Erestor’s pain, but he did not want the elf to suffer any longer. Digging his hands into the soil, Glorfindel began to chant to the sky. “Ulma nu si. Lya lavnierme lanta.” His voice was soft and pleaded to whoever would listen. Darkness came above, clouds gathered, and the wind howled. Thunder cracked and rain began to fall, drenching them. Glorfindel shivered as the downpour soaked through his own clothing, but he dared not move as he watched Erestor patiently, stroking what was left of the dark hair back from once smooth skin, now grotesquely bubbled and blistered, and in some places was blackened. Glorfindel could only pray that it was soot, but rain would not wash it away, and he wept silently, comforted only that Erestor did not see his pain.

The darksome elf had gathered enough strength to tilt his head back with Glorfindel's help and open his mouth, letting the rain quench his thirst. When he had managed to drink his fill, his hands sought out Glorfindel’s. “How long have you felt me. Up there.” He reached a shaky hand toward Glorfindel’s cheek. 

“For some time now. Centuries. A few thousand years, I might say.” Glorfindel led Erestor’s burnt hand to the side of his face and held it loosely, gingerly taking hold of Erestor's other hand with his free one. 

“I hear you, too, sometimes, and in my dreams, but I-” Erestor’s voice cracked upon his admission. “I thought I was making it all up. Still, I do not understand it.” 

“We must have bonded without knowing it,” Glorfindel finally reasoned. 

Erestor made an undignified sort of noise in reply, and Glorfindel had a feeling there would have been some degree of eye-rolling had it been possible. “I think I might have recalled if we had. In fact, I am certain I would have remembered.” 

Glorfindel thought on this as he wrung out his hair and began to braid it into one long plait, planning to comb out Erestor's after he had finished with his. “What about the night Elrond and Celebrian announced their engagement? When I pulled you through the archway.” 

“But I stepped back through,” Erestor argued. “And that is nothing more than ceremonial and... and non-binding! I stepped back through!” he shouted weakly in a hoarse voice to the heavens, and was answered with a streak of lightning and a crash of thunder. 

“Not according to them,” Glorfindel answered, nodding his head to the sky. "Of course, I was hearing you long before that."

"Really?" There was a long pause and then an admission from Erestor. "For me, it was happening in Gondolin."

"After the fake marriages that Legolas performed." Glorfindel thought back to that day long ago, recalling the discussion he and Erestor had had with the displaced Greenwood Elf. "If he performed the ceremony so that Aranel and Tauniel were bound, then the logical conclusion is that you and I were bound, too."

Erestor didn’t say anything for some time, letting the rain cool his wounds as Glorfindel tended to him. "You are aware of the fact I still do not fancy Elves of the same gender, are you not?" 

"I have heard you attempt to woo poor unsuspecting maidens who wander into the library in search of nothing more than a heavy book to use as a doorstop, if that is what you mean," replied Glorfindel, testing the limits of his jests. He assumed, however, that Erestor was intentionally trying to lighten what had obviously become a somewhat awkward conversation. Helping Erestor to sit up, he positioned himself behind the advisor and began to untangle what he could of Erestor's dark hair with his hands before he tried braiding what was left of the dark hair that was normally so seemingly flawless in order to bring some sort of normalcy to the situation. So much of it was singed and some patches had even burned away completely. It was brittle, and broke off so freely that Glorfindel abandoned his task for fear he would render Erestor bald.

"Yes, your autobiography came in handy quite often on such occasions," answered Erestor. 

"I would have suggested your poetry book," smirked Glorfindel. "Larger and heavier, and less likely to circulate." 

Erestor was quiet now, and this worried Glorfindel as he finished his work in picking the remaining pieces of charred clothing from Erestor's skin. He carefully let Erestor lean back against him to rest. The fact that he had not been forced away was somewhat positive, decided Glorfindel, and Erestor's next comment was more so. "How would you know the size and weight of that old tome?" 

"I may have read from it on occasion," admitted Glorfindel. 

"When?" 

"Oh, it has been some time now," recalled Glorfindel, remembering that Elrond had taken it with him when he crossed the sea. "I believe it was after Arwen left, and I wanted something to help cheer me up." 

Erestor was silent again, finally asking in that raw voice that was not his, should not have been his, yet was, "My poems...cheered you?" 

"Especially the ones you wrote when you were in Greenwood," confessed the golden one. "I think I have read them all four or five times at least. I could recite any one of them if you asked." 

"I never thought anyone looked at that book. That is why I had little reluctance to allow Elrond to take it with him. I was not aware of the fact you had such an interest in poetry," said Erestor quietly. 

Glorfindel chuckled. "I have a good many interests, though I am trained as a fighter and serve as a protector, and had little time to pursue such things. You did not think I put the skills you taught me in Gondolin to waste, did you? Poetry, theatre, music - you do know I can play the lute, do you not?" 

"Is that what you call that noise that comes from the barracks?" wondered Erestor, but Glorfindel was able to move his head 'round to see that the other elf was smirking. "All this time, I thought it was an attempt to attract tone-deaf geese." 

"On the contrary," retorted Glorfindel, "it was an attempt to attract a Noldorin librarian." Glorfindel bit his tongue at the remark, feeling Erestor stiffen. "Erestor-" 

"Fin. I will be blunt. This is rather unexpected, and honestly, it confuses and... even scares me a little. I always thought your infatuation with me was a phase. A really long phase, but I assumed one day your true love was going to come along. Apparently, that would be... me, and this is fate. I will not lie," said Erestor. "I am... apprehensive, and afraid. However, I told you once that it would be... easy for me to love you. I suppose we may... end up testing that theory. You have known me long and know I am open to new ideas and suggestions." 

"Would this count as the former, or the latter?" 

Erestor sighed. "I suppose it would depend on the view. You have...boldly made the suggestion, and for my part, I shall...consider the idea." 

"If the Valar will it-" began Glorfindel, but he was cut off abruptly. 

"Fin? I would be more than happy to speak more of this later, if I can hold out long enough, and - as you say, the Valar will it," he said in a grim voice. "Would you please...take me home?" 

Glorfindel gathered up the dark elf without hesitation, bundling the wet blanket around Erestor before settling him against a nearby tree. Quickly, he lifted the saddle back upon Asfaloth, apologizing to the mount for the condition of the ride back in advance. Glorfindel rode Asfaloth hard, all the while under the cover of the storm as he brought Erestor back to Imladris. 

\---

“Where is Erestor?” 

“Is he alright?” 

Glorfindel settled down in his chair, sopping wet, and not caring much. “He is resting. I have tended to his wounds, but it will be some time before he joins us for dinner and on walks.” If at all, added the voice in his head. He shook his head to dismiss his doubts.

The twins looked at Glorfindel with extreme concern. “Can we see him?” Elladan finally asked the question they both wanted to. 

Glorfindel did not immediately answer as he propped his feet up on another chair. “I would know something from you before you visit with Master Erestor.” When both twins nodded emphatically, Glorfindel looked upon them, and they could tell that it pained him to say what he did. “I would know whether you plan to be counted among elves or men.” 

“We have yet to decide, Glorfindel. We know we must soon choose,” offered Elrohir. 

“Whatever the case, we will decide upon the same fate,” added Elladan, and his twin nodded. 

Glorfindel sighed, disheartened. “Then go and look upon your friend and teacher, and know when you see him that his pain and grief has been caused by Men. Think of that when you choose your fate.” 

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> *I figured Glorfindel’s little magic-type plea to the Valar would be best in Quenya, so the closest translation for it is “Rain down now. Let your tears fall.”
> 
> Erestor’s predicament is loosely based upon the tale of St. Lawrence, patron saint of librarians. For more info on him, and to compare, go to http://valinor.ca/lawrence.html (wayback machine archive - http://valinor.ca/lawrence.html)


End file.
